10:25 A.M. Detroit Michigan, July 14, 1980
The sky was velvety with low hanging clouds and Ronald Reagan, presumed nominee for his party, squinted up at them. It was still gray up from a thunderstorm that had stopped not too long before and it still smelled like rain.
“Think it’ll rain more?” He asked the man he was walking with, but Lee Atwater didn’t seem to be in a particularly conversational mood, he had stepped into a puddle. Staring mournfully down at one sopping leather dress shoe, the campaign executive just sighed.
“Good morning sir, all set for the convention?” Another man, a security agent, was walking from the hotel to greet them and Reagan smiled as he approached.
“All set.” Reagan was still smiling as he looked up at the hotel, its immense glass face looming up into the air. It was the tallest hotel in the entire city of Detroit, and he would staying on the very top floor, in the penthouse. It felt fitting.
Atwater and Reagan parted ways in the lobby, Reagan heading into the elevator, Atwater meeting up with some others to strategize for the convention. Reagan was the nominee, everybody knew that, but so far nobody was sure who would be his running mate.
Reagan had spoken with Gerald Ford more than once about the possibility of the former President running alongside him but harbored serious doubts about the viability of that plan. Ford wanted Kissinger in State, Greenspan in Treasury and all sorts of other powers to be granted to the vice presidency; demands which made Reagan feel uneasy.
He had spoken to a great many people about this and had been told all sorts of things. Some thought that it was a great idea, but most were skeptical. He had been told something fairly memorable by Donald Rumsfeld only a few days before: that picking Ford would be like staffing a boat with two captains. It made sense to Reagan, Ford was just as hands on as he was, and the last thing the nation needed was two Presidents at the same time, especially after the mess that Carter had bumbled the country into.
Reagan had a distinct sense that Rumsfeld was angling for a spot as running mate himself but had no plans for the man outside of his cabinet. He wanted a more moderate running mate, Rumsfeld would certainly excite the conservative wing of the party but wouldn’t win anyone outside of who he already had.
Ford might be out...Rumsfeld not very promising, and who did that leave? If Anderson hadn’t shifted so hard to the left then Reagan might have entertained him, but the primaries had soured any chance of that ever happening. Bush could work but Reagan would have to give him a call.
The elevator bell dinged softly and the doors whispered open, delivering him into a well lit hallway decorated with presidential portraits, evidently the hotel staff had been doing some special decorating just for him.
Glancing at his watch Reagan saw that his schedule remained intact and decided that he would freshen up before the convention began. Turning on the shower he waited until the water warmed, still idly thinking of what would happen. He ran through the events of the convention in his mind, checking to make sure that his hair dye was still holding up before stepping into the shower. There would be a largely ceremonial counting of the delegates, at which point he would win easily. Then he would figure out who was to run alongside him, whether it be Ford, Bush or anyone else...they would get confirmed, probably over a strenuous objection from someone like Jesse Helms, and then the platform would be settled upon.
It all made sense and clicked together easily, he had this in the bag. From outside of the bathroom Reagan heard one of his security agents open the front door of his room, probably to let his luggage through. Nancy would be coming in later to meet him for lunch, then they would go to the convention. He wondered what she would be wearing, then stepped forwards into the shower.
Ronald Reagan, a man who had his path to the highest office in the land almost completely mapped out, slipped. For a moment he felt friction cease to work correctly, his foot skidding out before him, other leg buckling. He reached out for the shower door, a handle, anything, and felt a mild sense of terror as his fingers closed around empty air.
He had time to realize that he could be seriously hurt, then he plunged backwards. Had he fallen even a few inches further forwards then the former governor and presumptive presidential candidate would have landed flat on his back, on a fluffy bathroom mat. He probably would have knocked the wind out of himself, maybe thrown his back out at worst. But he didn’t. Ronald Reagan, falling backwards, bathroom lights blinding in their sudden intensity, hit the back of his head on the bathroom counter hard enough that his agents in the other room heard the impact, even above the hiss of the shower.
“Sir? You okay in there?” Asked one of them, cracking the door. The brightness of blood and the sight of his employer lying motionless on the floor was enough of an answer for him. He shouted for a medic.
_______
I take it that this is the next title in your ‘killing off famous conservative leaders’ series?
Who said anything about killing? Takes more than a granite countertop to kill off the Gipper.
He’s probably not going to be the nominee though.
Probably not.
So...the convention is gonna get messy?
Yup.
Bush, Baker, Connally, etc. all vying for supremacy?
Sort of...
Cage fight?
Umm...
Haven’t you ever wondered how many teeth Howard Baker could knock out with a good hit from a metal folding chair?
UMMMM...
Maybe Gerald Ford could make an appearance and put Jimmy Carter in a full nelson until he submits and gives the presidency back.
Okay! Thats enough from you, disturbing inner voice! I don’t even watch wrestling.
You don't even have a title graphic.
Not all of us can be Meadow, Thande and Lord Roem…just let me jump on the TLIAD/W/M bandwagon in peace.
Go update Icarus Rising while you're on that bandwagon, your readers are starving.
Shoo.
The sky was velvety with low hanging clouds and Ronald Reagan, presumed nominee for his party, squinted up at them. It was still gray up from a thunderstorm that had stopped not too long before and it still smelled like rain.
“Think it’ll rain more?” He asked the man he was walking with, but Lee Atwater didn’t seem to be in a particularly conversational mood, he had stepped into a puddle. Staring mournfully down at one sopping leather dress shoe, the campaign executive just sighed.
“Good morning sir, all set for the convention?” Another man, a security agent, was walking from the hotel to greet them and Reagan smiled as he approached.
“All set.” Reagan was still smiling as he looked up at the hotel, its immense glass face looming up into the air. It was the tallest hotel in the entire city of Detroit, and he would staying on the very top floor, in the penthouse. It felt fitting.
Atwater and Reagan parted ways in the lobby, Reagan heading into the elevator, Atwater meeting up with some others to strategize for the convention. Reagan was the nominee, everybody knew that, but so far nobody was sure who would be his running mate.
Reagan had spoken with Gerald Ford more than once about the possibility of the former President running alongside him but harbored serious doubts about the viability of that plan. Ford wanted Kissinger in State, Greenspan in Treasury and all sorts of other powers to be granted to the vice presidency; demands which made Reagan feel uneasy.
He had spoken to a great many people about this and had been told all sorts of things. Some thought that it was a great idea, but most were skeptical. He had been told something fairly memorable by Donald Rumsfeld only a few days before: that picking Ford would be like staffing a boat with two captains. It made sense to Reagan, Ford was just as hands on as he was, and the last thing the nation needed was two Presidents at the same time, especially after the mess that Carter had bumbled the country into.
Reagan had a distinct sense that Rumsfeld was angling for a spot as running mate himself but had no plans for the man outside of his cabinet. He wanted a more moderate running mate, Rumsfeld would certainly excite the conservative wing of the party but wouldn’t win anyone outside of who he already had.
Ford might be out...Rumsfeld not very promising, and who did that leave? If Anderson hadn’t shifted so hard to the left then Reagan might have entertained him, but the primaries had soured any chance of that ever happening. Bush could work but Reagan would have to give him a call.
The elevator bell dinged softly and the doors whispered open, delivering him into a well lit hallway decorated with presidential portraits, evidently the hotel staff had been doing some special decorating just for him.
Glancing at his watch Reagan saw that his schedule remained intact and decided that he would freshen up before the convention began. Turning on the shower he waited until the water warmed, still idly thinking of what would happen. He ran through the events of the convention in his mind, checking to make sure that his hair dye was still holding up before stepping into the shower. There would be a largely ceremonial counting of the delegates, at which point he would win easily. Then he would figure out who was to run alongside him, whether it be Ford, Bush or anyone else...they would get confirmed, probably over a strenuous objection from someone like Jesse Helms, and then the platform would be settled upon.
It all made sense and clicked together easily, he had this in the bag. From outside of the bathroom Reagan heard one of his security agents open the front door of his room, probably to let his luggage through. Nancy would be coming in later to meet him for lunch, then they would go to the convention. He wondered what she would be wearing, then stepped forwards into the shower.
Ronald Reagan, a man who had his path to the highest office in the land almost completely mapped out, slipped. For a moment he felt friction cease to work correctly, his foot skidding out before him, other leg buckling. He reached out for the shower door, a handle, anything, and felt a mild sense of terror as his fingers closed around empty air.
He had time to realize that he could be seriously hurt, then he plunged backwards. Had he fallen even a few inches further forwards then the former governor and presumptive presidential candidate would have landed flat on his back, on a fluffy bathroom mat. He probably would have knocked the wind out of himself, maybe thrown his back out at worst. But he didn’t. Ronald Reagan, falling backwards, bathroom lights blinding in their sudden intensity, hit the back of his head on the bathroom counter hard enough that his agents in the other room heard the impact, even above the hiss of the shower.
“Sir? You okay in there?” Asked one of them, cracking the door. The brightness of blood and the sight of his employer lying motionless on the floor was enough of an answer for him. He shouted for a medic.
_______
I take it that this is the next title in your ‘killing off famous conservative leaders’ series?
Who said anything about killing? Takes more than a granite countertop to kill off the Gipper.
He’s probably not going to be the nominee though.
Probably not.
So...the convention is gonna get messy?
Yup.
Bush, Baker, Connally, etc. all vying for supremacy?
Sort of...
Cage fight?
Umm...
Haven’t you ever wondered how many teeth Howard Baker could knock out with a good hit from a metal folding chair?
UMMMM...
Maybe Gerald Ford could make an appearance and put Jimmy Carter in a full nelson until he submits and gives the presidency back.
Okay! Thats enough from you, disturbing inner voice! I don’t even watch wrestling.
You don't even have a title graphic.
Not all of us can be Meadow, Thande and Lord Roem…just let me jump on the TLIAD/W/M bandwagon in peace.
Go update Icarus Rising while you're on that bandwagon, your readers are starving.
Shoo.
